The One She Impacted
by Plasmabolter
Summary: Maude Price is an American woman sharing a small flat with her friend, Molly Hooper. But who is this obnoxious man she keeps running into? Literally, in some cases. ROMANCE. :D
1. Expecting the unexpected

**Author's Notes: Ok so this is my first fic. I think it'll be good. Maude is my OC. Reviews are greatly appreciated!  
Disclaimer: I don't own Sherlock. That would be cool if i did, but I don't.**

* * *

Her name was Maude: a 29 year old American woman, 6 years out of college, graduated with an Art Major, now living with a friend in London, England. A fresh start was her excuse for moving to a new country. It's hard to live in the same house where your mother was shot to death in an armed robbery. But that was all in the past.

A red wool hat hastily shoved onto head, wavy brown hair in face, Maude rushed out the door and locking it behind her, ran out onto the street. She was going to be late yet again for her professional choir rehearsal and they had a performance approaching quickly. Now was not the time to be missing, or even being late for practices. Especially around Christmas time. She quickly waved down a Taxi. That was the nice thing about London: Not owning a car, and therefore not having to pay for gas. Plenty of Taxi's for everyone.

"Northumberland Street, please." She told the driver, thrusting a fistful of cash over the back of the seat. He took the money and asked, "Any specific place, ma'am?"

"No, no, just drop me off at that little ugly green restaurant; you know the place I'm talking about?"

"Sure do, ma'am." And he pulled into the road and they were off.

It was not a very long ride; ten minutes at most. Maude normally would've walked but when you sleep in until 10 and then paint for the rest of the day, you sometimes lose track of time and then the next time you look at the clock it's already 4pm and you know you're going to have a very angry instructor if you don't get going. Maude loved to paint, and as long as it wasn't a nude picture, her flat-mate and friend, Molly, didn't mind her covering the walls with them. It helped her get away from the chaotic world for a while. The painting she had been trying to finish all day was one of the street she lived on. In the painting, people were happy and walking their dogs and with their lovers. It was perfect.

Maude tried to smooth out her rumpled coat and fix her hair. She hadn't even had time to put on make-up. Though she wasn't too worried about that, all her friends said she looked fine without it.

They were almost their destination when the driver's phone rang. He answered it and after a few excited exclamations and a, "I'll be there as soon as possible!" he hooted with laughter. "What is it?" Maude asked cautiously.

"My wife!" he called back joyously, "she's in labor!" _Whoa, talk about unexpected. _ "Congratulations!" Maude told him. He looked at her in the rearview mirror expectantly. She paused, and then sighed, realizing what it he was asking. "Alright, just drop me off here." She gestured to a small store just up ahead. He wanted to get to his wife as soon as possible. A few more minutes of driving wouldn't make much of a difference but she could understand.

"Thank you!" he said pulling off to the sidewalk. Maude got out and wished him luck. He thanked her again then sped off, earning himself a few angry honks. Maude had come to terms with her tardiness a while ago but still didn't want to get kicked out of the program, so she ran. Paint-stained leather bag filled with now crumpled sheet music clutched to her chest, she ran, calling apologies back to people she collided with.

_Two more blocks, just two more blocks, _she thought. Her sides ached and the cold air rushing against her face wasn't helping either. She knocked into a man and he stumbled, shouting angrily after her.

"Sorry!" she turned without stopping, a grimace on her face. The unfortunate thing about not looking where you are running is you tend to crash heavily into objects. The object in particular being a tall man who had stepped suddenly out of a café and into her path. They spun awkwardly, and as she tripped over his foot he grabbed her shoulders to steady her. Her bag tumbled from her grasp and sheet music floated all over the sidewalk.  
"No! No, no, no, no!" She muttered and hastily dropped to her knees to gather the paper.

"My apologies," the tall man said. He voice was deep and haughty, as if he thought it was her fault.

"It's fine." She looked up at him and faltered for a moment. His thin face was striking; deep chiseled cheekbones cut under his narrowed eyes, which rested beneath lowered eyebrows. Dark curly hair spilled onto his forehead. Maude gathered herself.

"Though, I would be very grateful if you would help me." Sarcasm tinged her voice, and he heard it, his eyes narrowing even more, but he obliged. Together they quickly finished gathering the spilled contents of her bag. They stood and he held out her bag.

"You should watch where you're going next time," he disciplined, a smug look upon his face, as she snatched it from his hands.  
He smiled disarmingly, "Have a wonderful evening." And with that, he spun around, his long coat twirling dramatically, and strode off. She stared at his retreating back with a look of disbelief and contempt on her face. _ What a rude man!_ Then she added, _but what a memorable face! Strong featured, intelligent face, handsome but not perfect…everything you need for a painting! _ She told herself he would make a better painting than person. Then she remembered choir and took off running again.

Maude arrived back at the apartment late that night. After choir she had gone to a bar and partied to get rid of the stress. It worked; she was stress free and very drunk. Her hands fumbled at the lock on the door and when she realized she couldn't get the key in, she pounded the door with her fist.  
"Molly!" her voice slurred the name noticeably. "Molly! Let me in! I am too drunk to fit the key into the lock!"  
She heard the door being unlocked from the inside and waited for her flat mate, Molly, to open the door.

"Drunk again, huh?" Molly asked, yawning. It was 1:00am. Maude gave a guilty smile.

"You got me."

Molly sighed and stepped aside to let her in. Their flat was small—two bedrooms, living room, kitchen—and modest, with cream walls adorned with Maude's paintings. Molly led Maude to her room, both stumbling and swaying, Molly from weariness and Maude from drunkenness. As Maude collapsed onto her bed she muttered, "I met, well crashed, into someone today. A man."  
Molly grinned, "Oh really? Well, why don't you tell me about him tomorrow?"

"Oh alrigh'."

Then Maude passed out.


	2. The Art of Painting

**A/N: So second chapter...voila! A short one, though. Sherlock will be making a second appearance soon! How exciting! Just keep reading! Oh and review!**

* * *

Waking up with a hangover isn't the best way to start your Saturday.

"Maude!" Molly shook her awake, "I think 11:00 in the morning, even on a Saturday, is pushing it."

Maude rolled over and groaned. "My heeeead."

"Yep, that's what you get for drinking so much."

"Molly, if I didn't know any better, I'd say you were taking pleasure in my suffering," Maude grumbled, the blankets twisting around her as she stretched. Molly let a small smile pull at her mouth, and yanked open the blinds.

"No! Stop! Have mercy!" Maude flailed, trying to grab a pillow to cover her eyes with, and accidently toppled off the edge of the bed. Molly chuckled and left Maude moaning on the floor.

A half hour later, Maude strolled into the kitchen freshly showered and clean. Molly looked up from the Island table where she was reading a newspaper.

"You were faking. You're not that hung-over. You look fine now." Maude poured herself some orange-juice.

"Maybe I was exaggerating a little. But I do have a headache." Molly harrumphed and went back to examining the newspaper.

"Thanks, by the way," Maude said, "for helping me last night."

Molly smiled understandingly, "It's fine. Though you did mention a man…." Molly said, a question scrawled on her face. Maude paused, her glass halfway to her mouth, "Did I?"

"You did. You said you…crashed into him?" Silence, as Maude tried to remember. "Ah yes! I was late for choir and running down the sidewalk—," Molly cut her off, "No cab?"

"He wife was in labor."

"I see," she replied as if this happened a lot. "Yeah, so I was running and I accidently collided with this man."

"Was he handsome?"

"…Yes, though not perfect."

"Did you get his name?"

"No, but that's not the point."

"What is the point?"

"The point is that his face is memorable, and I plan to paint it."

Molly sighed. "You need a boyfriend."

"Well, as long as he doesn't look like Jim."

Molly laughed, "As long as he isn't anything like Jim! Man, that guy was a creep, I'm glad I ended that."

Maude chuckled, "And still no interest from whatshisname? From your work?"

Molly sighed again, "Sherlock. And no, but I am definitely over him. He is cold and unfeeling and I wouldn't want to date someone like that. I can't believe I ever even liked him." She smiled, "But there is—do you remember that guy from… what was that place?" Molly's brow furrowed in concentration, "Oh! Sean's friend. Alan. He is someone I could very quickly start to like." Sean was a fellow choir member of Maude's and occasionally Maude and Molly would meet up with him and his friend, Alan, for a social drink or party.

"Like…how quickly?"

Molly giggled, "Like, now."

"Oh…I see." Maude looked surprised. Then slowly, a grin pulled at her lips and she laughed. "Molly Hooper, the sooner you get married and have yourself a family the better!" Molly threw a kitchen towel which Maude batted away, and they both laughed. Once they gathered themselves, Maude said, "Well, I best get to painting the man." She got up and paused in the doorway, "Also, I have some people coming to look at a few paintings." She raised her eyebrows, "some very…expensive paintings."

"Oh good, we need some money for the rent this month."

"I know I need to get my half, but if these people buy, it should be enough for the next two months."

"Alright, if you insist. But you know my job is enough to pay—"

"No!" Maude said sharply. "I can pay my half!" She faltered, putting a hand to her forehead, "I'm sorry, I just—I'll get it." Molly nodded and watched as her flat-mate walked out the door.

* * *

Maude stared at the canvas, her mind focused on the taut cloth. _His face, remember his face, _She thought forcefully. The high cheekbones, the thin face, the lowered brows, the dark curly hair, It was all so perfect. _Perfect. _ That's not what she thought before. She wondered what his name was. _No! No distractions! _ She cleared her thoughts and began mixing colors to get the right shade, then pressed her paintbrush to the canvas and began painting.

A few hours later, Molly poked her head through the studio door. Maude's art studio was a small shed in the back of the building that the landlady let her use for free. Maude had spent hours fixing up the small shack. It was now heated and the holes in the roof had been patched and the walls insulated and painted.

"How's the painting? Have you finished? Can I see it?" asked Molly.

"Whoa, whoa!" Maude smiled happily, "Hold on a minute, the painting is good, probably one of my better ones and I'm just adding the last details and no, you cannot see it."

"What? Why ever not?" Molly asked, disappointed.

"You can see it if, and only if, the painting sells to that fancy art store, _Gideon's Brushes._"

"You're going to sell it to _Gideon?_" An Incredulous look appeared on Molly's face. "That painting must be amazing. Gideon's, wow."

"I know, but I really think he will like this one. And he'll pay a lot for it."

_Gideon's Brushes_ was a posh, upper-class store that sold famous paintings and sometimes, in very lucky cases, amateur artists' pieces.

Molly's face turned serious, "What I originally came to tell you was that those potential buyers, the ones that were planning on coming today? Well, they called and canceled, said they already bought a painting they found."

Maude let out a stream of curses, "Did they say who the artist was?"

"Maude, I—"

"Did they?" Molly sighed, "Claire Jackson. They bought the paintings from Claire."

Maude swore again, "Just my luck." Claire Jackson, amateur artist, archenemy of Maude. She hated Maude the first moment she realized Maude's paintings were better than hers. The feeling was mutual. For some reason, Claire seemed to get all the customers.

"Ugh. The suspense is already eating at me! Just one peek?" Molly persisted.

"No, let me finish. Tomorrow we'll go to Gideon."

"Won't the store be closed on a Sunday?"

Maude paused, "You're right. Of course he'll be closed on a Sunday. Duh. I knew that," She said.

Molly nodded slowly then said, "So we'll go on Monday?" Maude stated her agreement with an unlady-like grunt. Molly turned to the door. "Ok, well that sounds like a plan. I'm going out and probably won't be back till late tonight."

"Now who's going to get drunk." Maude smirked. Molly rolled her eyes and left.

Score for Maude. She smiled and began painting.


	3. Him Again

**A/N: So tell me how you like it so far? Anything I should add? Remove? I'm very open to suggestions. I think some one you all love is going to make an appearance. :) Reviews please?**

* * *

Maude stood and cringed as her back cramped up. Hours of sitting and leaning forward can do that to you. She examined her painting. The face of the unknown man seemed to examine her as well. She had captured his features with precision. This one would bring in a load of money. Maude turned to observe herself in the small mirror on the opposite wall. Medium height, curly brown hair she had succeeded in taming that day. Her "button nose" (as Molly had dubbed it) sat right in the center of her face with a stubborn upturn at the tip. It rested above her typically pursed lips. And to top it all off, she was covered in paint splatters.

The tired artist left the painting to dry and trudged through their slushy garden to the house. Having not eaten anything since that morning, food was her first priority. After making it to the kitchen and stuffing herself with leftover food, Maude fell asleep on the couch.

* * *

The next day went by in a lazy blur. Sundays were meant to be filled with food, TV shows and more food. Oh, and sleep of course.

* * *

On Monday the morning rush sped by and Maude found herself in the back of a cab with Molly, the painting lying safely cushioned in many layers of bubble wrap in a cardboard box at her feet. They were heading to St. Bartholomew's hospital, or 'St. Bart's' as Molly fondly referred to her place of work. The pathologist had received a call from the Holmes man earlier that morning. He had said her assistance was required. So they were heading there first and Molly wanted Maude to meet the Holmes man and his "sidekick", Dr. John Watson.

"Are you sure they'll be there?" Maude asked.

"Yes for the hundredth time, they called and asked me to help them out with something."

"Help with what?"

"Not quite sure. He didn't say. But it will most likely be something unusual, just…prepare yourself."

"Right. I will prepare myself. Hang on." Maude closed her eyes pretended to meditate, taking deep noisy breathes and making upside down "OK" signs on her knees. She snapped her eyes open, faking revelation. "I feel…prepared. Behold Molly! I am prepared!" She let a long dramatic sigh escape her.

"You're mocking me."

Maude gasped sarcastically, "Mocking you? Never would I even dream…How could you think such a thing? I am astounded at you."

"Just—Just shut up. Alright? Can you ever be serious? You are such a child sometimes." Maude shrugged her shoulders innocently then turned to smile at the window. "I am very happy right now. I am going to be holding mucho amountos of casho very soono." At this, Molly cracked a smile. "You suck at Spanish."

Maude wrinkled her nose. "Amazing observation, I didn't realize it showed that much."

"On the subject of observations, Sherlock is very good at them."

"Well he has to be, doesn't he? He is a detective, right?"

"Yes, but just—well you'll see for yourself."

"I am prepared, remember?" This time Molly couldn't hold it in. She laughed so heartily even the driver couldn't help but emit a small chuckle.

* * *

"Thank you!" Maude called as the cabbie pulled away from the St. Bart's entrance. He honked a "you're welcome".

"I just love cab drivers, don't you?" Maude remarked as the two women entered the building, "They're so friendly." Molly ignored her and led the way down the hall. They simultaneously jumped as Molly's phone beeped the arrival of a text message. Maude waited patiently as Molly read and replied to the message.

"It was Sherlock. He wanted to know if we were close."

Maude raised her eyebrows, "A little impatient are we?"

"He can be like that sometimes." Molly led the way down yet another hallway. Maude was starting to feel a tad uneasy. The building was like a maze. She didn't know if she would be able to find her way out by herself. A sense of direction was something she lacked. Molly stopped outside a door.

"Here we are." She grinned. "Prepare." Maude clutched the box containing the painting gently to her chest and smiled as Molly threw open the door.

"Finally," Said an exasperated deep voice. A voice Maude recognized. She froze, letting the door slam shut in front of her after Molly went through. A list of possible swear-words ran through her head, and she settled for all of them. Mentally, of course. It was her man. The man she painted.


	4. Maude's guide to deducing

**A/N: Hmmm you're welcome for that little cliffhanger! Read on to learn what happens!**

* * *

_Why him?_ She heard voices conversing on the other side of the door. She heard Molly's confused voice and closed her eyes as her flat-mate stuck her head out of the room. "Maude! What are you doing? Come on!" She went back inside. Maude took a deep breath, preparing herself, and stepped inside.

"And this is my flat-mate and very good—" Molly was cut off by Maude's loud cussing as she tripped over the small step in the door frame.

"Sorry," She said meekly after regaining her balance. "—friend, Maude Price." Molly finished slowly.

A short man with sandy hair stepped forward quickly, "John Watson."

Maude shook his outstretched hand. "Nice to meet you, John Watson."

He chuckled, "Just John, please."

"Of course, Just John." He grinned. Maude turned to the painted man.

"Then you must be Sherlock Holmes, am I right?" She stepped toward a man leaning over a microscope. He straightened quickly at hearing her voice and ignored her extended hand. It was indeed the man she had crashed into and painted. His cheekbones were as visible as ever. It was weird, shaking his hand and clutching his painted face to her chest at the same time.

His dark eyebrows rose ever so slightly, "Of course. Molly has told us a lot about you." A smile pulled at Maude's mouth. He continued, "An artist. I don't know very many artists."

She faltered. "Yes, how can you tell?" A quick look at Molly told her this was what she had been preparing for.

"Your hands." He smiled smugly.

Maude glanced at her hands. "Oh." They were splattered with paint that she hadn't been successful in eradicating.

He raised his eyebrows again, "And Molly made you scrambled eggs for breakfast. Very nice of her. I'm sure they were delicious. I'm guessing your next stop will be to sell the painting. May I see it?" He extended his hand. _As if_ she would give him the painting. Maude quickly realized that there were probably leftover scrambled eggs resting on her scarf. But how did he know about the painting? And Molly making the eggs? A previous line from him ran through Maude's head, _"Of course. Molly has told us a lot about you."_

_Ha! Can't fool me,_ Maude thought with delight. Molly must have told them about her dreadful cooking. Her cooking _would _make wonderful stories. She must have also mentioned the painting. Maude brushed off the small egg bits from her scarf. "I was saving those for later. I was also hoping no one would notice them."

Holmes looked slightly taken aback for a moment but he hid the emotion quickly.

"But how on earth did you know about Molly cooking them? And the painting?" Maude let an ounce of unnoticeable sarcasm mingle with the "awe" in her voice.

Well, unnoticeable to all except Molly who shot her a look. Holmes smiled smugly and went back to peering into his microscope without saying anything.

"Fine. Don't tell me. But now it's my turn," Maude huffed.

He straightened, an amused smile pulling at his lips. "Your turn?"

"Yes." Maude handed her precious box to Molly who gave her a look that said, "Just stop right now, you'll lose". Maude ignored her and strode up to Holmes with the same haughty manner he had walked away from her with when they had collided.

She pretended to study him intently. She silently thanked her high school drama instructor. She had been top of her class in theater.

"Well, let's see. To start, you share a flat with a man. Many presume you to be a couple. But that's not true, is it?" She peered at him, "You don't eat much, do you? No. Not much at all. Only two sugars in your coffee. I prefer three or four but that's just me." Surprise was written all over his face for about two seconds, and then it was gone and replaced by a strange look she couldn't decipher. Maude looked pointedly at his arm. "You play the violin!" She exclaimed. "That's wonderful! I bet it helps you concentrate." She stepped closer. "Your landlord is actually a land_lady_ and goodness you would never survive without her."

Holmes narrowed his eyes, "How did you do that?"

Maude allowed a triumphant and smirky smile to creep on her face. She ignored the question and took her box from Molly, who was glaring. "Thank you, Molly, I will just wander the halls aimlessly until you are ready to leave." She nodded at John, who looked delighted at her rant, and Holmes. "It was a pleasure meeting you, gentlemen. I do hope we chance upon each other sometime in the near future." Maude left the room as dramatically as she could, taking care to watch the small step this time. She quickly turned and stuck her head back in the room. "Molly, just text me when you're ready to leave and I will somehow find my way to the front entrance. 'Kay?"

Molly nodded and as Maude left she heard John say. "Brilliant! That was absolutely amazing! She's as good as you Sherlock! How did that feel? If you don't mind my asking."

"Shut up." Was the deep reply.

She hoped Molly wouldn't rat on her. The truth was, all she did was recite all the things Molly had told her about the two men. Well, it served him right. Sherlock Holmes was just a stuck up, conceited man.

* * *

Maude found herself in a waiting area with chairs lining the walls and magazines laying around on small tables. She decided to wait. In the waiting area. She sat in a rust colored chair and crossed one leg over the other. The artist stared around the room, smiling politely at people when required. Eventually, her phone buzzed and Molly told her to meet her at the entrance where they arrived.

_Finding the entrance from the waiting area can't be that hard, _Maude thought.

It turned out that it can. Maude looked for signs that would point her in the right direction, but found none. Molly texted her again asking where she was. She replied that she was on a bathroom break. No need do worry Molly, she would find her soon enough anyway.

Maude turned down yet another long hall and again collided into someone. She quickly pulled her painting out of the way, so it wouldn't be squashed between them. Hands caught her shoulders, steadying her.

"You again," said Sherlock Holmes. Of course, it had to be _him_.

"I could say the same thing," She responded with sigh.

He dropped his hands, "Listen, while we're here, I was curious as to what your methods of deduction are."

"My what?"

"Methods of deduction. How the devil could you tell that I play the violin?"

"Oh, right. Well the key to 'deducting' as well I do, is to try not to zone out too much while your flat mate tells you about her job and co-workers over dinner." Maude with a fake smile.

Holmes exhaled, "Of course, Molly told you everything. Stupid."

Maude smiled, "That's right, I know all about you and your friend." Maude turned to walk away. "Oh wait," she called back, "can you point me in the right direction to the east entrance?" He gestured distractedly in the opposite direction she was headed. Maude rolled her eyes and ran to find Molly.

Later that night, Maude and Molly stumbled back to their flat. Molly was mad because even though Gideon's _had_ bought Maude's painting, she still wouldn't let the pathologist see it. Like she was going to let Molly see it after meeting Sherlock Holmes. Yeah, right. But nonetheless, Maude was very happy with the money his face had brought in.

**I just realized that Molly is a bit OOC...any suggestions on how I could change that?**


	5. To sing a song of socialness

**Author's Note: Thanks so much for the reviews! I very much appreciate the suggestions! **

**Enjoy the chapter!**

* * *

It was Friday again. Molly had decided to come to Maude's choir practice because a few of them were going out for a drink afterward.

The songs the choir sang were beautiful. Maude had an amazing voice and even had her own solo part in one of the songs. The practice ended right at 6:00 and Maude got her coat and went to find Molly.

Her eyes caught sight of her friend and she yelled, "Molly! You ready?" Molly came over, accompanied by Alan.

"Yeah, where are the others?" By others, Molly meant Sean and Connie.

"Getting their coats. Come on, let's wait outside."

The three of them made their way out the door and waited just outside. A stream of other choir members exited past them, a few calling out goodbyes to Maude. Soon enough, Sean and Connie pushed through the door and came to them. Sean was a rather new addition to the choir and to their small group and so no one knew much about him. Alan and Connie were cousins but looked like they could be twins with their flaming red hair and round faces.

"Hey guys, where do you think we should head tonight?" Sean asked. Sean was tall and very handsome. He was clean-shaven and had short dark brown hair. His nose was perfectly straight and his jaw was sharp. Sean was the kind of guy everyone loved. In fact, even though she would never admit it, Maude was slightly taken with him.

* * *

Fifteen minutes later, Maude was seated with her friends around a small booth at a popular restaurant. The place was called _Carmen's_ and was known for its energetic open mic nights. This was one of those nights and the group almost had to shout to be heard.

"What did you say?" Connie bellowed.

Alan grinned, "I said, I'm going to join those blokes over there!" He gestured at a heap of men across the room, "I know of few of them and anything is better than you boring lot."

"I'll join you," Molly volunteered, "That is, if you don't mind," she added timidly. Alan shook his head. Maude watched as they made their way across the crowded room. There was an awkward silence then Connie burst out, "I think I'll join them. Leave you two…alone." She coughed uncomfortably and scrambled to join Molly and Alan.

Maude cleared her throat, "So…how is your singing…going?"

He laughed and her stomach tripped. "It's great. How is yours?"

"Very well, thank you. Though, I am having a bit of trouble with the second part in _Missa Papae Marcelli._"

"Don't be modest," He reprimanded playfully, "You sound amazing every time."

She blushed. He was just reaching over the table to take her hand when something –or someone –sat roughly next to her, making her slide into the wall.

"Oi! Who are you?" Sean asked vehemently. Maude straightened herself and glared at her assailant. It was none other than Sherlock Holmes. She swore loudly, groaned, and cursed him for interrupting her potentially intimate moment.

"What are you doing?!" She hissed at the detective. It took him a moment to realize she had said something. He raised an eyebrow at her as if she just asked the dumbest question.

"Waiting."

"Waiting? Waiting for what?"

"John. He's over at the bar, "chatting up" some woman. He insisted I came," Holmes said bitterly, gesturing vaguely over his shoulder and Maude looked to see John standing next to and smiling at a group of woman all at least one inch taller than he.

"Then why are you sitting here?"

"I recognized you and thought I'd join you while I wait. Isn't that what friends do? Meet up at bars. Yes, I'm sure that's what John told me." He looked genuinely confused at her reaction.

She gave a fake laugh. "Ha! Friends? We are not "friends", Mr. Holmes. We are strangers who have met once before."

"Twice," He corrected absentmindedly while drumming his fingers impatiently on the table.

"I'm sorry, who are you?" inquired Sean with displeasure lining his words.

"That's not important right now. What is imperative though is whether or not you are going to dump "Kelly" before asking dear Ms. Price out," Sherlock remarked.

Sean gaped, his mouthing opening and closely loosely a few times before snapping shut.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

Sherlock scoffed, "Of course you do. Don't waste my time and try to lie. I can always tell."

Maude hadn't said anything. She was just staring at her glass of water and without warning she picked it up and hurled its contents at Sean. He gasped as ice cubes fell onto his lap and down his shirt.

"Dick." She muttered at his back as he stalked away. Holmes smirked.

"How did you know about this…Kelly?" She inquired bitterly.

"I heard him talking to her over the phone near the toilets earlier. You seem disappointed. Why?"

"He was hot…." She lamented.

Sherlock forced a smile, "I see."

"No, you don't."

"You're right, I don't."

"So why aren't you next to John, chatting up some women as well?"

A bored look immediately strutted onto his sculpted face. "Not really my area."

"Well that woman over there will be disappointed to hear that," Maude pointed discreetly at a tall blonde with a skimpy red dress a few tables away. Sherlock peered at the blonde, "Really. Why?"

"Well don't stare!" Maude chastened quietly, "But she's totally into you!"

"When I look at her all I see is a shell of a woman who smokes and just recently divorced her husband. Lacking money, she came here to find an unsuspecting man and nick a bit of cash off him."

Maude huffed, "fine, don't go talk to her."

The detective snorted, as if it were hardly a possibility in the first place.

"Do you ever deduce anything respectable about people?" Maude asked. "Or is it only wicked things?" Sherlock looked taken aback. He quickly glanced around the room.

"Most of the time "respectable" characteristics aren't interesting."

Maude sighed at his answer but he continued before she could say anything, "But, if you really want to know, that couple over there are expecting their first, no, second child. And over there that man just graduated from uni. He's celebrating with his friends now."

She beamed. "See that's stuff people like to hear. They don't want to know about who's cheating on who, or if their brother is using drugs or not. They want happiness."

"Unless they hire me to tell them if their spouse is cheating on them," Sherlock pointed out.

"Sure, if tha –" Maude was cut off mid-sentence by Connie and Alan plopping down on the opposite seats.

"Right, then! Who's this bloke?" Alan looked around, "And where'd Sean pop off to?"

Maude harrumphed. "Sean, the poor dear, ran squealing back to his girlfriend, after Sherlock Holmes here, frightened him off. I'm sure Mr. Holmes has that effect on many people."

The artist didn't mean it as a compliment, but Sherlock took it as one. Maude quickly finished introducing the new arrivals, and then asked where Molly disappeared to.

"Got a bit tipsy and decided to pack it in early."

"Molly went home drunk? Alone?" Maude asked quickly and with a worried look on her face. Sherlock returned his phone to the inside pocket of his blazer, "She's fine. I texted her." Maude sighed with relief.

"Maude, you should sing!" Connie suddenly chirped in her high voice.

Maude waved away the suggestion, "I hardly think so!"

"Why not?" Alan questioned, "I'm sure someone has a guitar you can borrow. And besides, all the other times you've played here, everyone loved you!"

"Nope."

"She's nervous," Sherlock said suddenly.

"No, I've performed lots of times in front of a crowd. I'm not nervous or scared."

"This time you are. Something, or someone, is making you nervous." Alan and Connie giggled simultaneously and Sherlock waved a hand around the room, "Take a look, it could be any one of these men."

"Well, I never!" she exclaimed, causing the two cousins to laugh even more. Maude decided she would get up there and sing just to prove Sherlock Holmes wrong. She pushed at Sherlock's side and he quickly scrambled out of his seat to let her past, realizing that, in the determination he had sparked, she would most likely crawl over him if he didn't move.

A few minutes later she was up on stage with a borrowed guitar. She leaned forward to speak into the microphone, "Hey everyone! My name is Maude and I'm going to sing you all a few songs. But before I start I would like to tell a certain someone in the audience –you know who you are –that I am not nervous."

There was a ripple of laughter and then Maude began to sing. Her fingers expertly plucked the strings of the instrument and her voiced was, for want of a better description, like butter. It flowed smoothly over the notes, hitting each with perfection and skipping lightly to the next. The melody of the song was nothing short of beautiful and even Sherlock had to appreciated her talent. Even if it did bore him.

Sherlock felt a light touch on his shoulder and turned to see John standing behind him with a drink in is hand.

"Any luck with the women?" He asked sarcastically.

John grimaced, "Shut up. I didn't see you out talking to anyone."

"Not true; I was talking to someone."

"Who?"

Sherlock gestured to Maude on the small stage.

John's eyebrows rose, "Nice." Sherlock rolled his eyes.

Then John looked closer, "Hey isn't that…Maude Price? Molly's friend, right?"

Sherlock nodded.

"Is Molly here, then?"

Alan answered for him, "Negative. She left earlier."

"Shame, I would have liked to say hi."

"I'm sure you've said "hi" more than enough tonight," Sherlock commented, meaning John's failure at the bar. John made a face and sat next to Sherlock at the exact same time Alan and Connie stood.

John raised his eyebrows, "Going somewhere?"

"Yeah, home. We're tired and we want to leave you two together. Tell Maude good bye for us, will you?" Connie asked. John agreed and they left.

"Wait, did they leave because they thought we wanted to be…alone?" John said suddenly.

"Yes, I believe it was something to that effect."

There was a loud stream of clapping as Maude exited the stage.

"Fantastic, why does everyone seem to think I'm gay?" He stood up and shouted, "In case anyone cares, I'm not actually gay!" Heads turned and Sherlock pulled John down while standing up himself.

"No, he's just drunk!" he announced. He sat back down and said, "Don't make a scene."

A truly baffled look came over John and his eyes widened, "Since when have you ever cared about 'making a scene'?"

"I don't ," the detective replied tersely

"Then why –"

"Let's just go."

John shook his head, "Oh no. I am not going to be seen leaving here with you."

"Don't be ridiculous."

"I'll walk you out, John," said a voice. The two men glanced behind them to see Maude had returned.

"Brilliant. Thank you. You are a saint."

"Ha! I wouldn't go that far," she replied lightly.

"You have a wonderful voice, by the way. Doesn't she Sherlock?"

"I suppose I am required to agree," Sherlock muttered.

"Ignore him," John told her quickly.

"Thanks. And it's probably noticeable that I've had a few tonight, because I wouldn't have ignored that normally."

She took John's arm and as they left, John whispered to Sherlock, "Wait a few minutes before leaving. I'll meet you back at the flat."

Later that night as Maude was snug in her own bed, she found her slightly inebriated mind wondering whether or not if Holmes did, in fact, enjoy her singing.

Of course, the next morning she didn't remember any of her late night thoughts and continued to despise Sherlock Holmes.

* * *

**Please review!**


	6. Decisions, decisions, decisions

It was a late Thursday night when Maude received the phone call. Late as in it was midnight. The call was from her older brother, Anthony Price.

"Anthony," she said sleepily. "I was sleeping. What could be so important that you have to call at midnight?"

"Sorry!" he giggled.

What? Tony, her older brother, giggling?

"It's only evening here; I guess I forgot about the time difference," he continued happily.

"Are you giggling?" she asked suspiciously and he immediately stopped.

"No, of course not. I have some good news to tell you, though."

There was a small pause and she could practically hear the excitement in his silence.

"Maude, I'm engaged to Jane."

Maude couldn't hold it in; she let out a small shriek. She knew that Tony and Jane had been dating for a few years now. She had met Jane during her last visit back to America and thought she was perfect for her brother.

"Tony, that's so great! I'm so happy for you both! When is the wedding?"

He laughed and told her it was in three weeks, "Can you come? I think it's high time for you to visit us anyway. I know Dad and Luke really want to see you."

"Of course I'm coming. I wouldn't miss it for the world!"

They talked for a while longer about this and that. Wedding plans, ideas, and of course he asked if she had any love interests in England.

Maude dreamt of weddings that night.

* * *

"Molly, are you sure they don't mind if I come?"

"Well, John said to let you know that you're welcome to come if you'd like. So, I guess they don't mind," Molly replied as they got out of the cab.

Maude didn't want to intrude on the small party. It was at 221B, where John and Sherlock Holmes lived. Apparently their landlady was making them host a small summer solstice party and Molly had been invited and was bringing Maude along.

The door opened almost immediately after knocking.

"Hello dears!" cooed a small elderly lady wearing a dark purple blouse. "Molly, it's nice to see you," she said as she gave the pathologist a hug. "And you must be Maude." She said, also hugging Maude.

"Yes, and you're the famous Mrs. Hudson."

Mrs. Hudson made a small diffident gesture, "I don't what those boys told you to make me famous!"

They all shared a laugh and Mrs. Hudson led them upstairs.

Upon entering apartment B, Maude was greeted with the sight of a surprisingly cozy flat, obviously occupied by two single men, but still relatively tidy. There was a fireplace (unlit) with two seats, and a couch was snug against the wall to her right. There were only a few other people there. A man with graying hair and a small nose stood talking to John. Molly had told her about him. _His name was Lestrade. Greg Lestrade_. And a tall, balding man with a long nose stood by the fireplace with a small knowing smile on his face. _Mycroft Holmes,_ Maude remembered from Molly's earlier descriptions, _brother of Sherlock_.

They were greeted warmly by all but Sherlock who stood rigidly by the window. Later, once they were all seated, Molly told them about Maude's brother getting married.

"When is the wedding?" Lestrade asked lightly. He loved weddings.

"About three weeks. "

"Really? I'm sending Sherlock to America in three weeks to look into a…confidential case."

"What a coincidence!" Maude laughed. "Maybe I'll see you there," she added jokingly.

"Actually, Maude was just saying how it would be nice to find someone from England also traveling to America to share the expenses of a plane ticket," Molly piped up while Maude drew a hand across her throat frantically. Sherlock Holmes was the last person she wanted to travel with.

"Actually, I prefer to travel alone," Sherlock interrupted coolly.

"As do I," Maude agreed even though she really did like to travel with other people. Just not people like the detective.

"Well hang on," stated Lestrade. "That's my divisions money you're using to pay for plane tickets and accommodations, Sherlock. I wouldn't be so quick to dismiss a way to spend less of _my _money. As for you Maude, you don't seem like the type to miss a cheaper opportunity either. What say you?"

"Yeah, Maude," said Molly grinning evilly. "Why don't you and Sherlock fly together?"

Well, shit. It seemed she had no choice but to accept. As much as she hated it, it was cheaper.

"I don't think it's a good idea at all," John whispered to Mycroft Holmes. "The plane would probably explode with the tension." Mycroft agreed with a smile.

And so it was planned. Sherlock and Maude would fly together to New York, where they would then travel to Maude's father's house for the wedding. Then they would tackle the case and once that was completed, they would fly home. It cut the expenses nearly in half.


	7. The hotel

"Sherlock, the peanuts are for eating!" Maude hissed in horror as the detective flicked a fourth peanut over the seat in front of them. Sherlock smirked as the person in that specific seat looked around in confusion. Maude shoved his shoulder, but turned to hide her smile. They were just over halfway through the flight and Sherlock had been doing really well until the stewardess handed them packets of peanuts.

"It's relaxing," Sherlock replied slowly.

"What, flicking peanuts at other human beings?"

"Exactly."

"You are such a child."

"Yes, aren't we all?" Sherlock asked thoughtfully.

Maude rolled her eyes and turned the other way try to get some sleep.

* * *

Maude sat in the back of a dirty taxi –as Sherlock never failed to point out to her –and watched the lights of the city pass by. It was raining harshly outside, so she couldn't see much. She and the consulting detective were on their way from the airport to a hotel. Her older brother's wedding was in a few days and she had flown from London just to be there. Sherlock Holmes was with her because he was doing a bit of research for a special case for Lestrade. Coincidentally the dates were the same and they agreed to fly together and, since neither was rich, share the cost of a hotel room.

New York, good old hometown. Her dad and brothers thought it was high time she came to visit and this wedding was the perfect opportunity. The only thing was Sherlock had to come. She didn't want him to embarrass her in front of everyone. And she sure didn't want anyone thinking they were a couple.

The cab pulled outside of the hotel and Maude paid the driver and thanked him. They quickly dashed into the lobby to escape the pouring rain.

"Sherlock…" Maude said uncertainly as she examined the fancy lobby, "This place looks a bit expensive. Maybe we should have chosen somewhere cheaper."

"Nonsense, anyplace cheaper in this city and we'd be mugged in our sleep and our throats slit."

She cursed him for telling her about the city she grew up in.

She dragged her two suitcases to the elaborate front desk. Sherlock had chewed her out earlier for taking _two whole suitcases_ with her. He said taking one, like him, should be large enough for a week's worth of clothing. She had promptly reminded him that she was a woman and therefore needed extra space. He backed off after that. Not that he understood, but John had warned him to immediately shut his trap if she said anything like that.

At the front desk, Maude asked for a room with two single beds.

"Sorry," said the lady at the front desk, sounding anything but sorry, "We've been unusually busy this weekend; we only have rooms with one queen bed available."

Maude swore loudly, causing a few people to glare disapprovingly.

"Never mind," she grunted, giving apologetic glances at the surrounding individuals and heaving her suitcases around, "we'll go somewhere else."

"Muggers and murderers," Sherlock reminded her in a sing-song voice. "And as much as I don't like the idea of sharing, either, I'd rather my throat stay intact."

She silently cursed him and his rational thinking and grudgingly returned to the desk and they paid for a room. They left the lady at the desk, unaware that she thought they were a couple with marriage issues and didn't want to share a bed, and so told them all that was available was a queen, thinking sharing a bed would help them get back on good terms. The lady smiled at her little scheme.

Their room was number 435, inside was the aforementioned queen bed, which turned out to have a canopy that reflected the lavishness of the hotel. In addition to the fancy bed, there was a small kitchen and a bathroom that featured a bathtub and shower of considerable size.

"You're sleeping on the floor," Maude announced as she set her belongings on the bed with assertion.

"Why can't I have the bed?"

"Because I am a woman."

There it was again. Women…they confused him greatly.

* * *

After finding a few extra blankets and pillows (Maude insisted she need all four of hers because she was a woman) in one of the closets, Sherlock made up a relatively comfortable spot on the floor for himself. While waiting for Maude to finish in the bathroom (she insisted she needed it first, because she was a woman), Sherlock impatiently explored the cupboards and cabinets of the small kitchenette. Finding nothing of interest, he sat on the end of the bed and flicked through the channels on the TV that was mounted on the wall.

Not too long after, Maude groaned aloud after she heard a racket of noise coming from just outside the door. What was he up to now? She quickly finished in the bathroom. She was horrified to find Sherlock bellowing angrily at the TV screen. He had found Honey Boo Boo.

"What?" shouted Sherlock, leaping to his feet. "No! No, don't do that! Choose the other one!"

The poor TV was very good about it and took his verbal abuse without as much as a whimper.

"I don't think so!" Maude exclaimed, yanking the remote from his grasp and turning off the TV, "No, no, and no. Don't watch that."

"Turn it back on!" He practically screeched. "She was going to choose the wrong dress! She needs to wear the one on the left, with the bows! She'll lose if she picks anything other than the purple dress. Didn't you see the judges' reactions before? It's all there. Why don't they see? Turn it back on!"

"I don't think so," Maude repeated, "You've had enough of Honey Boo Boo."

"I need to see which dress she chooses!" he insisted.

"No, you probably don't even find out until the next episode which is next week. Look, I'm outta the loo, its open."

He glared at her, but obediently walked to the bathroom.

"Good boy," she muttered as she climbed under the covers and turned the TV back on, flipping through the channels until she found America's Got Talent. Maude's sleeping clothes consisted of a green tank top with striped pajama pants. She watched the show serenely until she heard the door of the bathroom click and open. She was surprised to see Sherlock wearing a plain white t-shirt with loose pajama pants. It didn't seem like him at all.

"What?" he asked defensively upon seeing her expression. She flicked her eyes back to the screen.

"Nothing."

He pointed to the empty spot next to her, "Mind if I sit there to watch the telly? I can't see from the floor."

She pursed her lips and he sighed, "Listen, I don't like this arrangement any more than you do, but seeing as there aren't really any other alternatives, we'll have to compromise."

Her expression didn't waver.

"And I paid for half the room," he added and sat down without waiting for an answer.

She stole a glance at him as he stretched out his legs and crossed one over the other. His hair was still damp from the shower he just took. She silently cursed her daftness and once again immersed herself in the show.

The singing wasn't at all too bad, though at one point Sherlock went so far as to plug his ears during one man's opera talent.

After the show was over, Sherlock moved back into his floor space and Maude turned off the lights.

"'Night, Sherlock," she said between a yawn.

"Goodnight," he replied after a considerable pause.


	8. Mr Price

The next morning they were traveling to Maude's father's house in the country. It was his retirement home and consequently quite a large place. There were enough rooms for many of the wedding guests who had traveled far to stay in. The actual wedding itself was to be held outside on the huge lawns.

Maude had talked to her brother, Anthony, about bringing a friend who was traveling with her and he had said it was all right and that he would be delighted to meet him. Maude was almost giddy on the bus ride there. They had left the hotel earlier that morning, the lady at the desk smiling at them as they left, and found a bus that was traveling the small town near her father's place. It was planned that once they got to the town, Maude's cousin would pick them up and drive them to the small estate.

On the bus, Maude insisted she take the window seat.

"Why?" asked Sherlock, slightly perplexed.

"Because I'm a woman."

"Oh," he gave in and parked himself in the seat next to her. The ride was just over an hour and the whole time, Sherlock seemed uncharacteristically quiet. Maude pointed this out.

"I usually travel by myself," he replied sullenly.

"Deducing people in your head, then?"

"Yes."

"Well?" she prompted him, "tell me about her" - Maude pointed to a middle-aged lady sitting toward the front of the bus-"who's she sleeping with?"

"The man next to her."

Maude's eyes widened because the man was so large, he probably wouldn't win a race against a tortoise. Maude shot a startled look at Holmes, which turned into one of amusement and even Sherlock had to crack a smile. This proved to be their entertainment for the ride; Maude would point at another passenger and Holmes would stare at them for moment then deduce something about them.

Before she knew it, they were at the bus station in New Milford. As soon as they got off the bus, Maude immediately saw her cousin, April, waiting for them in the little shelter.

"Maude!" Her cousin squealed with glee and wrapped her arms around Maude in a tight hug, "Long time no see! How are you? Who is –oh," she faltered a bit when she saw Sherlock. Maude tried not to laugh at her 28 year old, single, cousin. April had long luscious dark hair with matching eyes. She was tall and skinny, and the attention of many men.

"Who is this?" April continued with a flirty smile.

"April Boyd, this is Sherlock Holmes; he sometimes works with my flat-mate in England. He's actually here on work business, aren't you Sherlock?"

"Indeed. And just how long, Miss Boyd, have you been…you know," Sherlock said lightly, scrunching up his nose at the end. April's eyes widened. "H-How…?" she sputtered.

Maude shot a piercing glare in the detective's direction.

"He doesn't mean anything, April. He's just got this trick he does. Feel free to ignore him."

"It's not a trick," Sherlock muttered under his breath.

"Sherlock, be a dear and get my bags for me?" Maude put her arm around April and they started walking, leaving Sherlock to deal with Maude's luggage on his own.

The car ride to her father's estate wasn't very long. And luckily the weather was much nicer than it had been the day before, so they got a lovely view of the countryside on the way.

Maude was in a jovial mood. She was going to see her family again! And her brother was getting married! And Sherlock was keeping his mouth shut! She was particularly happy about the last bit.

They made a turn off the highway and drove up a long gravel road with a line of tall trees planted on either side.

The house came into view and a huge grin burst onto Maude's face.

"Just as I remember it!" she said with endearment. Sherlock peered out from the back seat (Maude insisted she get front with April because they were both women).

"It's a bit large, isn't it?" he remarked disdainfully.

"Don't spoil it, Sherlock," replied Maude cheerfully as she got out of the car. She was not about to let Sherlock's negative comments drown out her good mood.

An elderly man who looked to Sherlock to be in his early sixties opened the front door and swiftly danced down the front porch steps. Richard Price's hair was gray and he had a small bald spot, but he was still quite agile and spry for a man his age. He immediately pulled Maude into a great hug.

"Maude, my dear girl," he said happily, "We've missed you so much!"

"Dad!" she said, her voice muffled by his shirt. He held her at arm's length and looked her up and down. "I see you've been staying healthy."

"Of course, dad," She laughed and pulled him into a hug again, "It's really good to see you again!"

"Yes, yes, but where are your manners, Maude?" Her father looked pointedly at Sherlock.

"Oh, uh this is the man I was telling you about. Sherlock Holmes," introduced Maude hastily, "Sherlock, this is my father, Richard Price."

Sherlock shook his hand, "Mr. Price, your daughter has told me a lot about you and the rest of your family."

"Ho, Ho, a polite one! Just call me Richard, if you don't mind. And I hope your trip here went smoothly?"

Sherlock smiled, "It did."

Maude's jaw almost dropped. Here was Sherlock Holmes, being as polite as any normal person would. It was the strangest thing.

"Come inside, there is a certain young man here –and I won't say any names, Anthony –who has been anxiously awaiting your arrival."

As Richard turned his back to ascend the steps, Sherlock mouthed "you're welcome" at Maude who gave him a quick grateful smile and then hurried to catch up.


	9. White Tables

**Just a little note: I didn't want to have to go back and add in a bunch of stuff in previous chapters so just pretend sometime while Maude was in London (probably sometime after getting drunk at the bar) her younger brother Luke came and visited her and met Sherlock and surprisingly became friends with him. Luke is tall and has spiky black hair is about 17 years old. Thanks. Enjoy.**

* * *

They found themselves in the living room with a small group of other guests that were also staying at the house. Most of them were related to Maude in some way or another. She recognized her Aunt Donna and Uncle Bernard from California and two more cousins from someplace or another. She was greeted in the same way all around; lots of "hi, how are you?"s and "How is England treating you?"s. Sherlock mostly hovered near her shoulder as she spoke and didn't say anything unless social protocol required it. She introduced him to everyone as best she could, but he quickly became bored and sat in a chair in the corner and sulked.

Monotony was on his mind. He really didn't care how much Aunt Donna had to pay for a certain shirt or how fast "little cousin Grace" was growing up. What he really cared about was getting started on the case Lestrade had sent him on this horrendous trip for in the first place.

Sherlock shifted uncomfortably when two of Maude's little cousins walked up to him.

"Who're you?" one of them, a girl, demanded.

"No one. Go away." Sherlock crossed one leg over the other and turned away from them.

"You are too someone!" challenged the second child, a boy, in a high voice as he prodded the detective's knee hard. Sherlock winced, and looked at them distastefully.

"I'm really not, now go away and play your little mind-numbing games," he told them sarcastically, making small shooing motions with his hands.

The two children both stubbornly started protesting that he couldn't be "no one". The detective's self-control broke:

"All right, I am someone!"

They gazed at him curiously, "Who?" they asked in unison.

He leaned forward darkly. "Your worst nightmare." Their eyes widened and they bolted. Sherlock chuckled and leaned back into his chair, thinking he had handled that quite well.

"Well that was delicate," said a familiar voice to his right. Sherlock stood quickly and sighed with relief at the newcomer.

"Luke, thank god," Sherlock leaned in and whispered, "Save me."

"You too, huh? Painful, isn't it?" replied Maude's younger brother with a small smile. Luke's dark hair was longer and even spikier than the last time they had met. He was probably the one person, beside John, whose presence Sherlock enjoyed.

"Running from men with guns, as I've done previously, is preferable to this."

"There's a bunch of guys outside setting up tables and such for tomorrow. You want to come and help?" Luke offered. "I can also introduce you to the groom. My brother," he added. At this point, Sherlock would've help baked a cake to save himself from the tedium.

"God, yes," he replied. Maude smiled to herself as she watched Sherlock follow her brother outside. She was glad he was getting along with someone.

* * *

"Hey! Yo, Tony!" called Luke across the lawn. He waved an arm to attract the attention of his brother. A tall, muscular man around Sherlock's age turned from the white table he was setting up.

"Tony, this is Sherlock, our friend from England," Luke introduced as they reached him.

"Tony Price," Tony said as they shook hands. "Are you treating my sister all right?"

Sherlock paused, not sure what Tony was implying. Then it dawned upon him that the beefy man before him though he, Sherlock Holmes, was in a relationship with her, Maude price. As if.

"I think I should make it clear that Maude and I are in no kind of relationship," he said quickly.

"Sure," Tony grunted, obviously less than convinced.

"No really, we're not –"

Tony laughed, startling Sherlock by giving him a light clap on the shoulder.

"Don't worry, I'm just messing with you. C'mon, help me with this table."

Sherlock laughed uncertainly, and followed the groom-to-be.

Due to the heat of the day, Sherlock had taken off his coat and slung it over the back of a chair. In addition, he had rolled up his sleeves to work with the tables. Some of the other groomsmen had wandered over from their various jobs on the lawn to meet Sherlock and now they were all working on setting up a large tent. All in all, the detective was feeling very...ordinary.

God, how he despised it.

"Pull!" Sherlock heard one of Tony's friends, Nathan, shouted from the other end of the tent. They were in the process of stringing up the large tent. Sherlock, Luke, and a groomsman named Danny, were all heaving against a pole to make it stand upright. Tony, Nathan and Dawson were on the opposite side, pulling a rope. It was a tall tent. They succeeded in raising it, and Dawson quickly secured it.

"Good thing you're only getting married once," Dawson said playfully to Tony as he pushed blond hair from his forehead to cool off. Everyone laughed (except Sherlock) like men tend to do at stupid jokes.

"Statistically speaking, one in two marriages result in divorce so there is quite a high chance that you'll be remarried within five years," Sherlock stated with a fake smile.

"What?" Tony asked slightly insulted.

"Hey, you gentlemen!" came a shout from a figure on the porch, waving an arm to attract their attention, "There's food in here, if you want some!" At the mention of food, the men forgot what Sherlock had said and cheered.

"Awesome," said Danny, already making his way toward the house. Sherlock followed the others reluctantly, grabbing his coat from the chair on the way. Food wasn't high on his list of priorities.


End file.
